


The Will to DIE

by BrokenBeyondRepair



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 08:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3643329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenBeyondRepair/pseuds/BrokenBeyondRepair





	1. The Trouble of Focusing and Memories of the Past

 

 

I am tired. So very, very tired. My mind is fuzzy, as if filled with soap bubbles. It hurts to think. I’ve lost my little string of sane thought again.

I start over.

_My name is Hermione Granger. I am alive. I am twenty one years old._

_I should have died at seventeen..._

I get distracted with a tiny spider making its way across the cobblestone beside the fireplace. The fire crackles so comfortingly. I realize I lost that little string again.

I start over.

_My name is Hermione Granger. I can breathe. The war is over. It was over a long time ago. Everyone is dead. Dead except me…_

I finally swim back to focus. My mind wonders for the millionth time to the time of the war, the terror, some three or four years back.

 

* * *

 

The Dark Lord won. Harry was killed….. killed with such savage torture, driven beyond madness as he watched his captured friends falling. He was forced to watch. So was I. So was Ronald. The men were slaughtered. The women, the girls, the desired ones, were given off as prize and reward to those whom the Dark Lord though worthy.

Ginny Weasley went to Rodolphus Lestrange. Luna Lovegood to Avery.  Cho Chung to Nott….Faces swam past, white with fear. Fear. It was almost tangible in the air.

I was the last one to go. They said I was the most valuable, the most prized, the jewel of the Golden Trio. I cared not. I felt no fear. No pain. I died that day, seeing all my friends and all my family Cruciod and killed.

Stripped almost naked, I stood on a rising as I heard some voice far, far away telling the gloating crowd who I was. Whose deaths I have caused. I did not flinch as stones and spells flew at me, sent in rage for the fall of fellow Death Eaters. I was already dead. Hollow. A shell of a human.

I wasn't given away the same day. The Dark Lord kept me for himself that night. I would be gifted in the morning, sent to whomever would be my master.

The memories of that night are locked far in my mind. I willed myself to forget all the pain, the torture, the despair that went through my shell of a body. Pain beyond what I thought was possible. Horror beyond imagination. Terror beyond consciousness.I locked it deep inside and threw away the key.

I do not remember the morning. Or the next three days. Bloodied and unconscious, I was delivered to the Malfoy manor, gifted to the head of the Malfoys. Lucius Malfoy. He fell in favour again near the end of the war, outmatched now only by Severus Snape.

 

* * *

 

The house elves cleaned me. Healed my physical wounds. Washed my hair. Dressed me in soft silk for nightgowns. I felt nothing.

It was almost a month after the Night-Not-Wished-To-Be-Remembered that passed any different to my usual day of being in apathetic-comatose form. An elf came in, forcing me to eat. Food passed my lips with no feel to it. I did not know whether I was eating pumpkin pie or steak, nor did I care. I was like a doll, like a mannequin that the little elf Dwinky was playing with.

I was brought into a grand bathroom. I memory like a shard of mirror-glass shot through my distressed mind. The prefect bathroom at Hogwarts. The same countless number of tabs, the same stained glass. The bottomless pool.

Dwinky washed me, bathing me in endless bubbles, scents of flowers tickling her nose, making her ears twitch. She dried me with care, dressing me, the clothes slipping easily over my thinned frame. She carefully tamed my waterfall of brown curls. I thought of S.P.E.W. and all it’s dead members. When I drifted back from the past I was standing in front of an ornate door, black wood carved with careful designs. Dwinky knocked once, twice, thrice and vanished leaving a faint smell of gunpowder behind.

 

“Come in” the voice behind the door was authoritative, a silk of a bass.

 

I didn’t move.

 

A moment passed. Then another. Footsteps sounded behind the door, coming closer, fast and impatient. With a soft creak the door flew open, making a dull thud on the cobblestone of the wall.

  
  
  
  



	2. A Shard of Glass of a Mememory

Lucius Malfoy stood in the frame, wearing the expression of a snake about to feast.

 

“Hermione Granger” his voice was a hiss, yet also rolling lazily towards her “Come on in”

 

I looked, stared at what happened to be on my eye level. A shiny silver button, round and perfect, with the Malfoy crest etched upon it. Untarnished. Unlike me.

 

I made no move.

 

His jaw set, lips becoming a tight line. The look of hungry amusement was gone from his chilling grey eyes. A small fire of anger flared up behind the controlled expression.

The amount of fucks I gave? Zero. For a second I almost giggled realizing that I used profanity in my thoughts. Then the feeling a hollowness popped the little bubble of humour in me, apathy sweeping me again.

His fingers wrapped around my wrist. As he dragged me in I idly thought that I will probably have a purple ring of bruises around it the next day. If I was unlucky enough to live to see it.

He set me still on the rug in front of a fireplace. A happy fire warmed my back as Malfoy released my wrist, and settled himself in a low canapé of emerald velvet and black wood. My hands hung limply along my sides, as he rested his own on the back  of the seat, one leg resting the ankle on the knee of the other. His eyes seemed to burn my skin, as a smirking smile shaped his lips.

 

Time passed.

 

My eyes were occupied with a spot of patter on the carpet. My mind was empty.

A noise like the slither of scales on marble distracted me. I glanced up, towards the source of the sound. Ropes of black material snaked from the ceiling, fastening themselves around my already bruised wrists, jerking me off the floor. I was hanging now in a Y form, my arms spread by the ropes, my feet together  but not brushing the floor.

Malfoy was smiling his predatory smile. I knew. I knew what was coming. For a slit of a moment I wanted the Dementor’s kiss. Anything. Anything but the gloating, the shaming, the use of my body. Then the torrid fear subdued, the welcoming hollowness back in it’s rightful place.

My eyes focused on Malfoy again.

He has gotten rid of his formal coat, leaving the dark vest on. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up, the Dark Mark coiling on one of the arms. His long fingers twirled his wand. His trousers were tented, his eyes smoldering as he devoured me with his eyes.

A flick of the wand and cool air brushed my skin. My clothes weren’t gone, but split nearly down the front with a clean cut of a Sectumsempra.

Reality tilted a bit as I refused to look up, keeping my eyes down. I could see my centre of my ribcage through the cut clothes, the lavender bra and matching panties left untouched by the cut., the skin stretched too tightly underneath to be healthy.  I mentally rolled my eyes at myself for thinking about health. I’d rather be dead right now.

The sound of a movement brought me up again. I had to stop getting distracted….Or not….

Everything felt as if watched by someone else, as if I was looking with the eyes of a witness standing aside.

Malfoy stood up. Gliding towards me with his peacock strut. Even brushed off the floor by the ropes, my eyes were still barely reaching his eye level. I looked at his jaw instead, short stubble of platinum silvering his skin. I didn’t want to look up. Didn’t want to see the lust, the hunger in his eyes.

He placed on hand on my stomach, his skin so hot it felt like it was freezing me. Icing my gut. Sending a shudder through me. I could feel his predatory smile. Could almost hear his thoughts.

He hummed deeply as he went around me, the vibration of his voice going through me, tilting his head to go under my tied arms, his long blond hair brushing my side. His hand, still burning me, trailed along, caressing skin from stomach to side, lifting my clothes.

He was fully behind me now.

His breath scorched my ear as he placed his chin on my shoulder, hurting my arm.

“Little mudblood…-” soft and silky “-you like this don’t you..?” a hiss of a sound, more to himself than to me.

My body, betraying me, was shaking, shaking with fear I did not feel, shaking with disgust. I did not want these emotions, didn’t want any. I wanted death.

Fastening his fingers around the band of my skirt, he tugged it down, sliding it down my hips and knees, going down with it onto his knees. A sound, meant to be a scream, but coming out like a cry of a strangled animal left my throat when his lip brushed the back of my thigh. Goosebumps washed over me.

“No...no, please”  a harsh whisper, a pleas escaped my lips. My voice was coarse from weeks of no use after almost being torn under torture.

A sound, a deep sound like a soft satisfied laugh vibrated through, his mouth not leaving my skin, trailing down along my knees to ankles, and back up, up to my behind. A small spurt of a spell, and my sliced top was gone. My bra and panties now all that was covering my nakedness. The cool air from the door of the bedroom chilled my front. The blazing fire of the logs blazed my behind.

Lucius stood up, his hands, rough and callused, silking along, wrapping around and sliding up my inner thighs.

I shook. My body was like a leaf in the wind, trembling hard. I cursed my mind, my body, everything fro leaving the sweet oblivion of apathy. Everything was too bright, too vivid. Too real.

And reality ment paint.

I choked on tears, a small sound escaping me as Malfoy kissed my neck. My arms hurt, the ropes cutting too much. The weight of my own body, although not too much, was hurting my shoulders. Pain. So much pain.

“Please, please, please…” it was almost like a mantra, barely audible. I begged. “....please…”

He listened not to me. Tracing patterns on my exposed skin, his long clever fingers of one hand worked down. My face was hot, I was fully sobbing now. I was wet. My body was wet, wet for him. Burning hot fingers found my centre, stroking gently, but firmly. More sobs escaped me.

“Shhhh, little mudblood. No need to cry pet.” his crooning in my ear made me cringe away, away when there was nowhere to go. One hand still stroking my core through the soaked material of my panties, he whispered in my ear, my mop of hair barely muffling his words.

“No, no, nonononononononono!” I felt like I was yelling, like I was making the loudest sound ever hear by human ear. In reality I could not even hear myself.

With an animal noise, a growl of a tiger, the fingers stroking me fastened around the material of my panties, yanking them off. The clasp or my bra tore as her ripped it off from the front, the straps cutting my skin, hot drops sliding down my back. Rough hands hurt my breast as the calloused skin of his palms brushed over my painfully strainned nippels, perked from attention. I didn't want this. Not this. Not him. But I could not control my body, eagerly responding to his skilled touch. I hoarse scream tore from me as he slipped one finger inside me. Another. A third. In and out. I was begging against it. My body was praying for it. Faster and faster, his thumb flicking over the bundle of nerves marking the centre of my universe.

The feeling, so extreme, so wanted, so unwelcome. So conflicting.

My plea for mercy echoed across the dungeon-like room as I came, my body limp in his arms and on the ropes. Death. I craved it so badly.

 

Another dark laugh rumbled. Malfoy went around, facing me. His white shirt was gone, he now stood barefoot with his trousers undone at the belt hanging to show the V of his hips. The bottoms of the pantlegs were rolled up. He really was a fine specimen of a man, rippling and toned muscle moving under fair aristocratic skin, his hair not even slightly upset by his actions.

Licking the fingers that have cause my undoing, his steel-gray eyes priced in me, dark amusement in them. Pale lips, red tongue, chasing runway drops of my juices. I was transfixed. Unmoving. But still alive.

A small smirk touched the side of his mouth. Faster than my eyes could register, the other hand went around me, gripping at the nape of my neck, his mouth forced onto me. I could taste myself, the salty sweetness and the pressure of his tongue sweeping and tuggin my own. Against my will a moan went through me. I felt his expression smoldering. He let me go. I was gasping for breath. Lucius was breathing lightly, his hair not even disheveled.

Brown eyes and grey eyes. I could almost see my own, in the reflection of his. Scared, big, and full of tears.

Not breaking eye contact he lowered himself slightly, capturing one of the peaks of my breasts with his lips, soft and pleasing. The other hand knead softly and gently. Another moan escaped. Another whimper sounded. He let his tongue trail around the painfully aching nipple and down, down to the apex of my thighs.

“Please….”

I could not tell if I was begging him to stop, or to continue. Gurgling gibberish was all that was leaving me now. My mind was losing the battle to my body. I was defeated.

A butterfly kiss and then another.

I was mewling under his touch. Begging. Pleaing.

One last kiss that almost sent me over into the abyss again and he stood up, grabbing my ankles and wrapping my legs around his hips, wandless magic binding them with rope behind his back. Silver eyes. Hazel eyes. Shaking apprehension…..

He unzipped his trousers-  

 

“No!” and then there was white-hot pain.


End file.
